


With the Same Music They Quiver

by QuillerQueen



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Happy Ending, OQ Happy Ending Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 18:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15225663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillerQueen/pseuds/QuillerQueen
Summary: Regina's wounds are tended to with more gentleness than she ever expected - more, in fact, than she knows what to do with. Robin, on the other hand, wonders whether, once hers have healed and she chooses to move on, he might be left with wounds of his own to nurse.





	With the Same Music They Quiver

Peace, at last.

Regina is floating, awash in the smell of fresh rain beating a steady rhythm in tune with the  gentle, tentative strums of the lute.

It’s not half bad, death. She no longer feels the sting of the blade where the sword had been plunged into her gut. Her skin no longer tingles and burns at Robin Hood’s grounding touch. The boy, Henry’s tears no longer sear her skin. Poor thing—his mission to save her, to save everyone, was clearly a failure after all; his belief in a happy ending for her, a true love, proved exactly as futile as Regina had insisted it was.

_Drip, drip, drip._

She scrunches her nose as a fat raindrop splatters on her cheek.

The lute falters, then stills.

Feet scrambling, canvas rustling, a whoosh of air weaving into words:

“Look who’s finally awake.”

Not dead, then. Dying. Still dying—still with Robin by her side, just like he vowed at the steps of the church.

He settles by her bedside, reaching to patch up the offending tent, then edging closer to where she can’t but lie like a log and stare up at him dumlbly. Her fingers twitch, the traitors, but what does it matter when his seem equally keen to clasp, to clutch, to caress?

“You’re going to live, Regina.”

It’s firm and bright, like sunshine reflecting off the shiny ribbon of the river on a summer morn, his smile and his words infused with a certainty they lacked before. She believes them. She believes him.

The weightlessness leaves her, plunging her body into pain as the effects of whatever healing herbs they’ve been plying her with wear off.

“What about Henry?” she presses out, her head pounding, her vision blurring. “Did it work? The quill, and... What happened?”

Robin smiles, his eyes dancing as he tells her it worked indeed, that Henry and Emma were snatched from their world and carried off to their own, but that the rest of them are still very much here—and, presumably, there as well, in whatever other version of them roams that mysterious world. He tells her of small shifts in luck, of good fortune upon the worthy at last and harsh times for the less virtuous no doubt stemming from the breaking of whatever curse they’d been cloaked in before. He tells her, too, with mounting excitement, of the rising tide of resistance against the Queen’s evil reign, and the words _long live Regina_ springing up like mushrooms in every which corner of the kingdom.

Regina’s stomach sinks, and her spirits with it. Pressing her eyes shut (she’s weak, weak for this man and what they could be to each other, weak enough that she doesn’t trust herself to do it while they gaze into each other’s eyes), she slips her fingers from his. Confused and contrite, he withdraws, and that pains her, too, but—so she tells herself—it’s for the best.

She’s not the kind of person who gets a happy ending—curse or no curse, magic or no magic. 

“I can’t stay here,” she says, hating her words for being barely louder than a whisper where she wants them strong, and resolute, and indisputable. “The Queen will know, and she will come for you.”

Robin nods—he must have expected this line of argument. Not that this means he knows her—he doesn’t. Just as she doesn’t know him—and yet she finds his counterargument easy to foresee.

“Might I remind you our faces both have had the honour of gracing Her Majesty’s wanted posters? She already has it in for me. And she’s yet to find our hideout.”

“This is different. Our feud—”

“—is legendary. I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“No, you don’t.” Because he can’t know. Regina’s never had allies in her lonely fight against, or flight from, Snow White—not to a small part because she didn’t want to drag anyone down with her. And now here she is, in the Merry Men’s camp (Alan-a-Dale is strumming his lute again, producing odd little sounds of discord, and he must have decided the instrument needs a little tuning), this fabled place so well hidden no one, not the Queen’s lackeys, not other bands of criminals, not even Regina herself have ever managed to discover. Here she is, with Robin Hood by her side, literally, and he’s offering to remain exactly there.

But the place by his side is already taken, isn’t it?

“Weren’t you going to retire anyway?” she hisses, short of breath and hating the dizziness wrapping her up like a heavy cloak at the height of a heat wave. Hating the way her chest constricts as well, and the bitterness lacing her words. “To live happily ever after with your new bride?”

Robin sighs. His fingers hover where her hand lies atop the blanket, but he doesn’t attempt to touch her. She’s grateful for that at least, for the restrain and the respect that catch her off-guard. He sighs, and shakes his head with a grimace.

“Zelena is...not who I thought she was. We could never have worked. Which is what I’m going to tell her as soon as I manage to track her down.”

“She just—?” Regina doesn’t want to feel relieved. She can’t afford for that tiny, indestructible seed of hope in her heart to take root.

“Ran away?” he finishes for her, breathing a small, bitter laugh. “That she did. Never looked back. She must know already. Maybe she’s always known. It is I who was too blind to see it.”

“I can’t—I don’t—” A dozen thoughts, a score of objections rise up in her, crowding her tongue and never making it past lips that refuse obedience. Her lungs burn with the effort to draw breath, shallow and pitiful gasps where words and sentences should be. She’s still weak, too weak to even keep her eyes open.

“You’re tired,” comes Robin’s voice, distant somehow, and his fingers brush back a lock of hair from her sweaty forehead. She fights it, opens her eyes and shoots him a fiery look. He seems to understand, for he chases it with: “Regina, I promise I’m not dismissing you. We can—and shall—talk about all of this later. When you’re strength’s back in full force to unleash some choice words at me should I be asking for them,” he grins, making her lips twitch ever so slightly.

Regina’s lids grow inconceivably heavy, and she sinks into a fitful sleep.

When she wakes, it’s still pitch black outside. The lute has gone quiet, and so has the entire camp. Robin’s huddled form rests pressed up against the canvas of the tent, his cloak covering him up to his eyes. He doesn’t wake when she pushes herself up on shaky arms, and she smiles—a thief light of foot, but heavy of sleep. Now that she’s never to touch him again, she wishes she hadn’t so callously rejected his touch hours earlier—but there’s no helping it now.

The moon is facing away from them, and the halo of light from the fire doesn’t quite reach her. Any patrols in place must be more focused on keeping people out rather than in, and no one stops her—not when she liberates a horse (she’s always had a way with them, and the animal seems to take to her at once, not making a sound of distress) and a pouch of gold from the paddocks, nor when she slips away into the night.

“Goodbye, Robin Hood,” she whispers as she spurs the horse into a trot. He’s been nursing her back to life, risking bringing the Queen’s wrath down on him and his men—and his _wife_ , for heaven’s sake. No matter what he says, no matter how telling—or so she thought—his look had been as he’d gazed helplessly at Regina in the church, he still married Zelena afterwards, didn’t he?

Regina has money now, to buy that coveted passage out of the kingdom, and a means of transportation towards freedom.

The horse flies through the night at a steady gallop. If only Regina were half so steady on the beast’s bare back. She’s not, though—she keeps sliding off to the side, fingers cramping as she holds on to reins and mane for dear life, her bottom aching at each jolt and jerk she cannot mitigate with trembling thighs, her vision swimming and her wound on fire as she curses this damn weakness bleeding through her every pore.

The horse will reach the border by sunrise; Regina isn’t sure she will.

Perhaps it’s for the rush of blood in her ears that she misses the pounding of hooves fast approaching—and then she’s being cut off by a bay her grey recognises and greets with a whinny.

Resigned to her fate and entirely spent, she grasps and grabs to keep herself from tumbling to the ground, but it’s only as a pair of arms, strong and uninhibited by heavy blood loss, catches her that her fall is slowed. They hit the forest floor together, Regina atop Robin, because who else would be fool enough to chase after her at breakneck speed through a forest infested with the Queen’s minions?

“Not tonight, milady,” he says softly as he adjusts her in his arms.

Tears spring to her eyes—of exhaustion and pain, of frustration at her own helplessness, of relief because with him she feels safe—but mostly because she’s never, ever, in her entire miserable existence been treated with such gentle care.

“I know why you ran, Regina. But I think you’ll see now you’re in no shape to get very far.”

“I—have to,” she heaves out, wondering if perhaps part of her lung slipped out along with the words.

“Not today,” he repeats. “But I have a proposition for you. Yes, another one—but I think this one might be to your liking, as much as it isn’t to mine. You come back to camp with me, and you give yourself time to heal. Once you’re fit to travel, and if that’s still what you want, I shall deliver you to the border myself—Quicksilver here seems all too happy to pass into your ownership, as does that money-bag at your belt.”

She can tell he’s still loathe to see her go; she can also tell, damned if she can explain how, that he’s being sincere, that he’ll keep his word when the time comes no matter how badly he wants her to stay.

“‘Kay,” she breathes, and feels Robin relax around her.

He lifts her to his horse, letting Quicksilver trot beside them, and whispers something soothing she doesn’t catch, a reassurance she doesn’t really need—because he smells like forest, feels like home, and so Regina curls up against his chest and is asleep in moments.

* * *

One month.

For one glorious month, they’ve had the pleasure of Regina’s company—and Robin has never felt so at home in the world.

It had been a slow, tentative start. The men welcomed her almost instantly; Regina, having been whipped by fate into a life of cautiousness and solitude, took a bit longer to open up. Once she did, though, even those objecting to the increased risk of raid by the Queen’s knights were soon converted by the sheer vastness of her heart, by her fire and skill and sharp wit. Her favourite whetstone, however, has undoubtedly become Robin, a target of most of her sarcastic remarks and her favourite adversary for verbal sparring. He can’t say he minds, not one bit. In fact, he may just enjoy them too much.

He might enjoy _her_ too much.

But it’s more than that, isn’t it? They’ve traded kisses, from soft and tentative to heated exchanges that left them panting and breathless. They’ve touched and stroked and moaned in unison, much to the chagrin of poor Little John, who moved his tent to the opposite end of the camp come next morning. And last night, they did more than that: they made love, slowly, carefully, so as not to bother her healing injury, but with no less passion for that. And as they came together for the first time, Robin felt with striking intensity what he’d already known—their souls were tethered to each other by invisible cords that, once united, sang a tune much more ravishing than anything even Alan’s lute could ever hope to produce.

It’s more—more than infatuation, more than attraction, and more than either of them were ready for.

Perhaps more than he could hope to last.

Because she’s looking at him differently tonight, with a wistfulness he’s not entirely sure he likes. With a softness he wants to wrap himself into, and occasionally a wet look that makes him reach for her—a gesture she accepts without the customary roll of her eyes or wiggle of her brows he’s come to expect when in public.

She’s going to leave.

She’s going to leave, right? Just like she’d told him before, just like he’d promised to help her do. He’s managed to convince himself she’d change her mind. Surely she’d see she’s not the burden she’d feared she’d be. She’s been nothing if not an enormous asset to their gang. They’ve done more good together than they ever could have hoped to do separately, even despite the limitations the injury has placed on her body.

Perhaps it’s Zelena. God, if only he’d never said yes in that blasted church. He hadn’t wanted to. He’d kept turning that quarter in his hands until the ceremony, had been keeping an eye on the door in anticipation, and had completely lost himself in Regina’s eyes the moment he’d spotted her. He should never have gone through with it. He should have seen how selfish Zelena was, how uninterested in Robin’s work aside from the popularity that, he now sees, was the sole draw for her. That, and perhaps whatever unflattering characteristics had come from the peculiar curse.

Surely Regina understands that? Surely she knows his heart is hers alone? Sure, he’s never told her in so many words, but—

“I’m leaving for the northern border tomorrow.”

An unnatural stillness falls upon the camp. Only Alan’s wretched lute resounds in the evening breeze, one last lingering tone, sad and lonely like heartbreak. Regina had warned them before, right from the start, so the idea is not new to the Merry Men, but even so the reality of it has stunned them all into silence.

“I’m grateful to all of you, for everything. You’ve embraced me, treated me like one of your own. But this was always a temporary solution, and now it’s time to move forward. To truly pursue the life I want.”

She turns to Robin then, and it’s all he can do to not gather her into his arms right there and beg her to reconsider.

“Will you come along like you said?” she asks with a small smile and more trust in her eyes than he’d ever hoped to gain, and how could he deny her even if it means crushing his own heart?

“Of course.”

They sleep wrapped in each other’s arms—or she does, for Robin is wide awake, his mind reeling and at the same time blank, the smell of Regina’s hair and the feel of her in his embrace all he can really focus on besides the looming terror of empty arms and a life without her in it.

They set out before dawn, and don’t speak much. Archer seems to sense Robin’s tension and sticks to Quicksilver’s side throughout the journey. Regina keeps throwing him furtive glances, and he finds he’s caught between the desire to never ever look away from her and the inability to look her in the eye. Because she may trust him, but he doesn’t trust himself to quietly watch her walk out of his life. Still, he made her a promise, and this is what she wants. So he suffers in silence until they reach the top of the cliff beyond which lies Midas’ fabled kingdom.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says softly, knowingly, as they leave their horses to graze while they—shit, he can’t even finish the thought—say goodbye. There are men, he knows, hiding along the cliffside, with ropes on this side and accomplices on the other, who will help her get across in lieu of generous payment.

_I don’t want you to go._

He says nothing—what’s there to say?

Only everything.

“Robin,” she tries again, walking up to him, rubbing up and down his arms the way she likes to do, and he’s no choice but to look at her now. She’s all watery eyes and shaky smile—and so bloody beautiful. “What you’ve done for me, I’ll never be able to repay. It’s been so long since I had a proper home—a family.”

_Then stay—please._

“You’ll always be part of ours, you know.” His voice cracks. “Wherever you are.”

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Robin doesn’t want to love her from afar. He wants to _be_ with her, if she’ll have him.

And suddenly that extra travel bag Friar Tuck had packed and loaded onto Archer makes so much more sense.

His men—his friends—knew, and gave him their blessing.

“I’m coming with you.”

“What?” she blinks.

Robin is certain, however, snatches the pouch clinking with coin from her saddle, content to see it’s quite full—there must be enough to buy passage for them both, and a little left to spare.

“Regina, I hate the thought of you thousands of miles away. But if you have to go, then let me come with you. Midas might be rich, but I doubt there’s no injustice in his kingdom for us to fix, no way to be useful. Or,” he backpedals quickly, desperately, “if it’s a quiet life you want, we can—”

“Robin—”

“Regina—”

But she pushes his hands away, and her eyes are ablaze with anger.

“You’re not giving up your life for me,” she tells him, not an inch of room for compromise. “Not your friends, or your calling. I would _never_ ask that of you. I’m not Zelena.”

Robin stares, running a hand through his hair for lack of an appropriate reaction.

“I know that,” he says. How could she think otherwise? “Of course you’re not. This is different though. It’s my choice.”

“I couldn’t live with myself—”

“So I have to?”

She steps back from him as if she’d been struck by lightning—all hurt and sheer disbelief that such a low blow should come from him of all people.

Fuck, he’s a bloody idiot.

“I apologise,” he offers quickly. “I only meant—” But what he meant doesn’t really matter, does it, because he’s cocking this all up, and what if— “If you don’t want me—”

“Damnit, Robin! Just open the damn satchel.”

So he does, numb and utterly flabbergasted—and seeing the contents of the bag certainly doesn’t help.

“This is—” Not gold, like he thought. It’s quarters. Dozens upon dozens of quarters like the one she left on the countertop of the tavern when they first met, the coin he’s kept and cherished ever since. “Not enough to pay for passage,” he says dumbly. “Not even for one.”

Regina smiles, rolls her eyes, and takes him by the hands, uncaring of the money now scattered at their feet.

“That’s still a no to replacing you as leader of the Merry Men,” she winks—or tries to, anyway. “Now, if you were, say, looking for a partner…”

“You’re quite serious?”

“Quite.”

She’s not leaving?

“The people of this kingdom need us. We owe it to them to stick around now that they’ve decided to take up the fight. And you were right, you know. About the Q—about Snow White. Deep down, I’ve never given up on her, not really. So maybe without this—this curse, or whatever… Maybe now she’s free of that, she, too, can change.”

She’s not leaving.

She never meant to.

“When did you—?”

“I woke up this morning, and… Alan was on watch, playing that silly tune you’d been trying to learn for me, the one I like? And you were all warm next to me—and prickly, with that scruff of yours,” she teases.

“You love it,” he grins weakly, and she lets out a wet chuckle but doesn’t argue.

“You were humming along, so quietly I could barely hear you, until—”

Robin knows what followed. Despite his best efforts, a tear had escaped him at that rich, delicate tune they both adored, one that would always remind him of her.

“That’s when it really dawned on me. What I was leaving behind. That you’d never make me breakfast, and burn it. That we’d never plan a heist together or celebrate afterwards. That I’d never get to return the favour and show you my little forest hideouts. I’d found a family, and I was about to just give that up. I’d found,” she pauses, shakes her head with one of those rare smiles that make his heart melt. ”I’d found love. I never thought either of those would be possible for me. I just—I never thought I’d have this.”

She’s crying, and so is he, and they should really move somewhere safe, somewhere they’re less likely to be discovered. And they will, just as soon as they’ve kissed their aches and bruises better.

“I was so scared,” he whispers into her hair as they hold each other.

“Me, too. I didn’t mean to hold this over you, I just wasn’t sure how to— I’m sorry.”

And it’s enough—right now, this is enough.

“You’re staying, then. With me?”

“Always.”


End file.
